Relief
by romeoharvey
Summary: MonkRandy Asking is hard.


**Relief**

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

Rays of sun still peek through the horizon, but the streetlights turned on three minutes ago. It's been nine minutes since Natalie left, and Randy has just about enough courage to get of his car and begin the walk to Monk's apartment. He talks to himself in hushed tones, like he did when he was little and alone. He says that this is a good time to try to speak with Monk. There are no major open cases, the former detective seems to be relatively stable, and Randy himself is getting sick of hiding his feelings; if he doesn't put them out in the open now, they're bound to come out at an inappropriate time.

Then Randy has to shut up, because suddenly he blinks and Monk is in front of him, asking why Randy's been standing in front of his door silently for ten minutes. Randy opens his mouth and tries to talk, really, he does, but no words come out. Monk fidgets nervously, asking Randy what's wrong, because of course there has to be something wrong for the Lieutenant to be at his home, at night, without the Captain.

Seeing that Monk is getting agitated, Randy firmly orders his voice to work again, pleased when he hears himself at last, telling Monk that nothing is wrong, he's just here because... And he's scared. Maybe he shouldn't be here just now, or ever. Maybe he should turn around, walk back to his car, pretend this never happened, but wait- Monk is inviting him in.

He seats Randy on one end of the couch, and fidgets a little before taking a seat on the far end. Randy stays quiet, but listens as Monk tells him how he had been using his new duster earlier, and how Natalie walked off, nearly yelling that he wasn't listening to her. Do you want to see the duster? No, no thanks, Monk. You know what, I just remembered I have a-, a date with this lady...

Randy makes it to the door and is unlocking it when Monk asks once more, Randy, why did you come here? The younger man sighs heavily, turns around and with both hands jammed firmly in his jacket pockets, he tries to verbalize his half-made thoughts. Monk, you are a very brilliant man, and you notice a lot of things I will never have the ability to. But for a while now I've had feelings about you, and I think that maybe you haven't noticed them... Well, I've had feelings for you since I met you. I used to be jealous of you, because the Captain always preferred you over me. And that was okay, because the jealously went away as my respect for you grew.

Recently, it seems that respect has led me to feel other emotions for you. I consider you a good colleague, but I want us to connect on a deeper level, and basically I came here to let you know I think I'm in love with you, and to ask if you would be willing to give an intimate relationship with me a try...

Randy trails off, breathless from fear of rejection, already holding back tears, regretting this, wishing he didn't feel the way he did, wishing he had taped his mouth shut before coming here. Or better yet, handcuffed himself to the steering wheel of his car until this desire for a more fuller life or something had passed.

Monk thinks, and thinks, and briefly entertains examining the other man a if he were a crime scene, finally saying something that doesn't destroy Randy- completely. Randy. Ah, Randy, I never thought that you considered me a, uh, candidate for your, uh.., boyfriend.

This is it, this is it, I've made a fool of myself. His heart breaking, Randy yanks open the door and is running away, hearing Monk still speaking but not listening anymore.

Two days later it's Wednesday. Just after sundown, and Randy wasn't returning calls from the Captain who asks why he decided to take his vacation all of the sudden, with no plans to go anywhere. But the Captain came over earlier today and Randy had to plaster on a smile to greet his superior and make up lies about how the hotel he was booked at is shutting down due to dead zones and the beach is infested with whales, and the airline lost all their planes to a major processed pasta incident. The older man seemed a bit skeptical, but told Randy to take care of himself and he's looking forward to having him back at the job come Monday morning.

Sipping on his third cherry slushie of the day, Randy thinks life would be easier if he was just a different _way_. If he wasn't such a loser maybe he'd be a more normal adult, and maybe he'd be attracted to a person who could return is feelings, and he, or she, would. Because he would be able to say what he wants to, and have it sound like a respectable man is speaking. Instead, he's nervous and what come out isn't right. It's not what he wanted to express, and he ends up sounding like a kid with no clue.

As his third brain freeze of the day hits, a muffled knocking at the door startles him out of himself. Plastic cup in one hand, and the other pressed to his forehead, Randy dizzily makes his way to the door, absently opening it.

It's Monk, with the sleeve of his jacket rolled over his fist, ready to knock again, but Randy's already blinking slowly at him, blushing a gentle pink shade. The door is shutting until Monk places his foot forward to stop it.

Randy, please, we need to talk about the other night. You know, when you came to my apartment and-

I know, are the words that come whispered from where Randy hides behind the wooden barrier between them.

Can I come in?

The door gives when Monk pushes it next and when he walks into Randy's home the younger man is standing a few feet away, hugging his over sized and brightly colored container of cold, sugary happiness.

I'm not in love with you, Randy. I think of you as a good friend, but I have never thought of you as a romantic partner. Truthfully, I never thought anyone would want to be with me. Trudy was a miracle, why she even gave me a chance I'll never know... Randy, I'm warning you, this will take a lot of time and you know I don't like changing things, but if you still want to try, I'm willing to.

Monk finishes and looks to Randy, relieved when the younger man smiles shyly and nods yes.

END.

A-N: Like? Hate? Let me know.


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